Dealing With Demons
by ChelsieLynn
Summary: The Battle of New York is over. It left the city scarred. But the worst scars are the ones we can't see. The scars in our minds, our hearts. Steve Rogers, Waverly, and Clint Barton all have scars of their own. They all have their demons to deal with. [SEQUEL TO I'M THE ONE WHO'S GONNA SAVE YOUR LIFE] [POST AVENGERS, DURING CA:TWS/IRONMAN 3] [StevexOC] [more inside]
1. Prologue

**AN: Heyyyy ya'll... soo, I've been wanting to write this for a loooooong time but didn't know how to get started. But I had some ideas so here we go! I'll start off by saying this is the sequel to my first Captain America fic, "I'm The One Who's Gonna Save Your Life." This takes place post-Avengers and during CA:TWS and Iron Man 3. It mainly focuses on Captain America and my OC which is why it's listed under the Captain America category. But it also stars Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, and will have cameos from other Avengers. It's a mix of genres; hurt/comfort, adventure/action, romance, and humor. It stands apart from all of my other fics (besides "I'm The One Who's Gonna Save Your Life") and updates may be slow as I have like 3 other fics I'm working on XP. But I do already have some future chapters ready so who knows... A couple of disclaimers: 1) I do have an OC. If you don't like OCs, don't ready my story. Parts will be from her POV as well as the POV of Steve and Clint (and possibly others). 2) I do not own anything Marvel related. Any and all direct quotes from the films are the property of Marvel. I think that's it...** **From here on out ANs will be at the end of chapters. Please read and review and I hope you like! :) -CL**

Dealing With Demons - A Captain America Story

Prologue:

 _It's been one month since the Battle of New York, as it came to be called. There's still wreckage, destruction surrounding Stark Tower. There are still bodies of lifeless aliens littering the streets. Clean up and construction crews have moved in. Buildings are in various states of repair. But the biggest change, the worst damage is what you can't see. It's in your mind, my mind, all our minds. Emotional, mental, psychological damage. They call it PTSD; post-traumatic stress disorder. The term's thrown around a lot in mainstream media. Especially with war veterans. Like Steve Rogers. But I never understood, not really, until it happened to me. It's like being a prisoner in your own head, your own mind. You're never free, not really. Even after all the evidence is gone. Even after everything's fixed. Even after time's gone by and routine settles back in. It's still there. The fear. The flashbacks. The demons. And we've all got to deal with the demons…._

* * *

"I can't sleep most nights. Not all the way through anyway. I have nightmares. Or flashbacks. Sometimes things I saw. Sometimes things I imagine. And sometimes things that don't even make since. Things from… before. Way before. When I was little." Waverly blew out a sigh, the rush of breath blowing the fringe of her bangs up out of her eyes. "A lot of it involves Clint. What happened. What could have happened." She bit her lip. "And things that Loki said… about him. About me. It's always there. The second I close my eyes. Like the boogie man. Hiding in the dark."

* * *

"When I came out of the ice… when I woke up… they told me then. Said I had this condition; this post-traumatic stress disorder. I didn't think it could happen to me. Not after what Erskine did to me. But I guess I do. I had flashbacks, even before the Battle of New York. The worst ones were of Bucky. How I failed to save him. How it was my fault. If I'd never asked him to go on that mission…." Steve ran a hand through his hair. "And there's just the general feeling of not belonging… in this time, this world. It's a weird thing to know everyone from your life is gone. The whole world has changed. I mean aliens. From outer space. I watched a portal open up in the sky and I… I don't know if I could process it all if I hadn't been treated with the serum."

* * *

"I'd like to say things went back to normal after we defeated Loki. I wish that everything was like it once was. But it isn't. At least not for me. People are returning to their daily lives. But I can't. He's still there; in the back corners of my mind. I can't shake him. Not fully. I'll be with the team, on a mission, or with other agents and I'll just be overcome with anger… and hatred. I'll imagine hurting them, killing them, just like I had done under Loki's control." Clint's eyes were focused on the floor. His speech was broken, the difficulty of what he was saying making the words hard to flow. He blinked a few times, swallowed, took a breath. "Nights are just as bad. Or worse. I hardly get a decent night's sleep anymore. I wake up two, three times a night. Nightmares. I'll see myself killing Natasha, or Waverly, over and over again, just like Loki wanted. Or I'll see the truth I've kept from her and sometimes that's even worse. Her reaction to it. Her hating me." He sighed and wiped a hand over his face. "They're the only people in this world that I can honestly say I care about," he gave a short, humorless laugh, "Even if Nat doesn't believe in love. But I was willing to kill them. For Loki. And I don't know how either of them still trust me. Or Fury. He let me off clean. Said I wasn't in my right mind. Not my fault. No charges against me. But I still did it. I still have the guilt. Everyone may have forgiven me but I can't forgive myself. I remember all of it. Everything I did. Everyone I killed. And the one's that died because of me. Phil. God, Phil. That's on me. I've killed before; it's not new to me. But those kills were criminals. They were for the greater good. I'm supposed to kill the villains, not the heroes." Clint took a shuddering breath and looked up into the therapist's eyes. "Unmade. That's what I am. He stripped me of everything and used me. Unmade."

* * *

"Where are the Avengers?"

"I'm not currently tracking their whereabouts. I'd say they've earned a leave of absence."

"And the Tesseract?"

"The Tesseract is where it belongs; out of our reach."

"That's not your call."

Fury resisted an eye roll and simply shrugged. "I didn't make it. I just didn't argue with the god that did."

From their shadowed faces on screen, another member of the World Security Council replied. "So you let him take it, and the war criminal, Loki, who should be answering for his crimes?

Fury let out a single chuckle. "Oh, I think he will be."

"I don't think you understand what you've started. Letting the Avengers loose on this world. They're dangerous."

"They surely are." Fury couldn't keep the hint of pride from creeping into his voice. "And the whole world knows it. Every world knows it."

"Was that the point of all this? A statement?"

"A promise." With that, Fury swiped his hand over the touch screen, ending the conference call with the World Security Council. He turned and saw Agent Hill waiting for him at the door to his office aboard the helicarrier. She had a questioning look on her face. "Yes, Hill?"

"You're not tracking them?"

"Not at this very moment, no."

"Is that wise?"

Fury crossed to her and the two walked side by side to the bridge. "Maybe, maybe not. But they've been through hell and back. The deserve a break."

Hill looked confused. "But…. Sir, how does it work now? They've gone their separate ways; some extremely far." She thought of Thor and the magic that took him to Asgard a literal world away. She couldn't even comprehend it. "We get into a situation like this again, what happens then?"

"They'll come back." Fury's voice was confident.

"You really sure about that?" Hill was skeptical.

"I am." More confidence.

"Why?"

Fury turned to face her. His one eye locked gazes with her. "Because we'll need them to."

* * *

 **AN: This is supposed to be jumpy so I hope no one is confused. The stuff at the beginning is in first person from Waverly's POV. I usually write in third person but I thought that sounded cool for a prologue. The stuff following will make more sense later on. Thanks for reading! :) -CL**


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Screaming woke her. It took her a few minutes to realize they were her own screams. The room was black, the curtains drawn tight over the window, blocking out the bright lights of New York City. She was sitting up in bed, the sheets tangled around her legs. She was breathing heavy and a cold sweat clung to her forehead like dew drops on grass. She heaved out a breath, trying to calm herself, and dropped her head into her palms.

There was a pounding on her door.

"Waverly?! Waverly? Are you alright?"

The knob jiggled but it was locked. The door wouldn't open.

Waverly took a shuddering breath, still trying to calm down. She disentangled her legs from the sheets and crossed over to the door, her eyes having adjusted to the darkness. She turned the lock, opened the door, and squinted against the light spilling in from the small hallway. The light was eclipsed by the tall, muscled form of Steve Rogers. She could tell by his appearance that, even though it must have been two or three in the morning, he hadn't been sleeping; his pajamas, a t-shirt and flannel pants, were far to neat and his hair wasn't even mussed. There were faint dark circles under his eyes but she could barely see them. The super solider serum he had been given all those years ago meant the lack of sleep didn't affect him as much as it affected her.

Once her door had been opened fully, Steve reached in and put his hands on Waverly's shoulders. "Wave, are you okay?"

She nodded, still trying to force her breathing and heart rate back to normal. "Yeah, fine. Just a… just a nightmare." She tipped herself forward, falling against Steve's chest. His hands slid down from her shoulders and wrapped around her back in a hug. She took his shirt in her fists and hung on, breathing in his scent, letting it wash over her and calm her. Even after a month, there was still a slight air of awkwardness in his embrace. Waverly had to remind herself Steve was still a little shy with women.

But they had been dating for a month now. Ever since the events of the Battle of New York had been wrapped up. Upon Thor's departure, the Avengers, and Waverly (she didn't really consider herself an Avenger; she wasn't a super hero like the others), had split ways. They had been granted an extended leave of absence from Director Fury. A time to rest, recover, recuperate from all the insanity that had taken place in the span of just a few days.

Except so far, not much recovering or recuperating had been done. At least not from what Waverly could tell. She and Steve didn't sleep much. They both had nightmares, flashbacks. And from what little contact Waverly had with her brother, he seemed to be distancing himself from her, he wasn't doing much better. And if she had to bet every dollar to her name, she would bet Clint had the worst of it all. Waverly had spoken to Natasha a few times as well. Nat always hid her feelings, concealed her emotions. But the spy hadn't gotten out of it unscathed. She had her own demons in that closed off mind. And Waverly was sure the other Avengers did too, though she didn't talk to them much.

Mainly, it was just her a Steve, in their little apartment in Manhattan, trying to figure out where to go from here.

Steve broke away from the hug, looked down at Waverly who looked up to meet his eyes.

"Movie?" He asked. This was their routine. They would go to bed, or at least try to. And almost every night one of them would wake with a nightmare. And then they would camp out on the couch, watch a movie until the sun came up. The dark things that dwelled in their minds never seemed quite as bad in the light of day.

"You weren't sleeping." Waverly said, ignoring his question.

Steve shrugged his massive shoulders. "Couldn't."

Waverly just nodded. "Mary Poppins?"

"Sure." Steve stepped aside, held out an arm indicating Waverly should go ahead.

She led the way into the living room, switched on the lamp on the end table, and then crossed to her giant DVD library lined up in neat rows underneath the TV. She found Mary Poppins and slid the disc into the DVD player. Steve, meanwhile, grabbed the blanket from the arm chair and settled himself onto the couch. When Waverly crossed over with the remote, he held up a corner of the blanket and she crawled under, leaning against his chest. She pressed play and the movie began. The soft flickering of the screen, the rise and fall of Steve's chest at her back, the steady thump of his heart, lulled her into sleep even before 'A Spoonful of Sugar.'

* * *

Steve knew Waverly was asleep when he heard the soft snores puncture through the dialog of the movie. He felt a small smile tip the corner of his lips. He knew Waverly didn't sleep well; neither of them did. It didn't bother him so much; he had slept for 70-something years. And his altered metabolism didn't require much sleep anyway. But he knew the lack of sleep was taking a toll on Waverly. She was thinner than he had ever seen her. Her eyes had a hallow look about them. She was exhausted. He was glad that she felt safe enough, comforted enough, with him to let herself sleep. Let her mind go blank. Let her body and soul rest. And in turn, that peacefulness soothed Steve as well. He felt his eyelids getting heavy. A blink. And then another, longer than the last. And again. And his head lolled against the back of the couch, his arm slung around Waverly's waist. And then the super soldier was out. And they both slept.

* * *

Clint didn't know how much caffeine the human body could take in at once but he was sure he was pushing the limit. But he needed the coffee. He needed the buzz to keep his eyelids from drooping; keep himself from falling asleep. The night before had been rough and he knew from past experience that tonight would be so as well. So he decided just to force himself not to sleep. He had forced himself to stay awake for extended periods of time on many previous missions, it should be easy. But this was different. He was drained; emotionally, physically, mentally. He was exhausted and he needed the sleep. But with the sleep came the dreams, the nightmares. Last night he had murdered Natasha. And whenever he dreamt of murdering Natasha, a dream of murdering Waverly followed. And he had no desire to dream of that, again. So, Clint poured himself his fifth (or was it sixth?) cup of coffee. Black. The way Natasha drank it. He never used to drink it black but sharing countless missions with Natasha had forced him to pick up a taste for it. He thought of texting Natasha, just for something to do, to keep him awake. But he knew she was off on her own leave, unwinding in whatever way it was the Black Widow unwound her web. _Ha, spider joke,_ Clint thought, slightly delirious.

He could text his sister. But he shot that idea down at once. He knew he needed his sister and she needed him but he didn't want to face her. Couldn't face her. Not yet. Still too soon. He wasn't ready for that conversation. So, instead he flipped on the TV. It was tuned to the 'Outdoor Channel' and a program about hunting rifles was on. Intrigued, Clint watched for a moment. The hosts were demonstrating different scopes and how to sight. They were shooting at targets on a range. The first host took a shot. Missed the bull's eye by a good five inches. Clint snorted, taking a long swig of coffee. The next host lined up, sighted, and fired. He missed the mark as well. "Ha," Clint laughed, "Amateurs. Stance is all wrong. Sighting with one eye. Forgot to calculate wind speed into their trajectory." He flipped through the channels, trying to find something to watch that wasn't an insult to sharp shooters. He paused in his channel surfing when he heard the sound of pacing footsteps above him. Glancing at the ceiling he thought, _Guess Tony can't sleep either._

After the battle, after things were mostly cleaned up, Tony had opened his tower to the other Avengers. Converted it into a sort of headquarters. Offered them all a place to live. Banner had moved in at once, having nowhere to live since his self-induced exile. Clint's apartment building had been demolished in the fighting, so he didn't have many options either. He had finally finished moving in a week ago and was just getting settled in. The place was nice, he was grateful to Tony, and Pepper as it was twelve percent her tower too (or so Tony said which didn't make much sense to Clint), but the place was a constant reminder of the battle and of Loki and his possession of Clint's mind. Which made it hard to move on. But Clint didn't really have any other option right now. And he liked the company. Ever since Waverly had moved in with Steve, home life had been kinda quiet. So for now, the archer would stay, and try to pick up the broken pieces of his mind and remake himself.

* * *

 **AN: Not much of an AN on this one... they'll be more from Steve's POV going forward. Hope you like; please review! :) -CL**


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

For a second, when Waverly woke up, she was confused. She wasn't in her room. She was curled on the couch, legs tucked up underneath her and arms wrapped up in a blanket. She was facing the TV; the scene selection screen of her Mary Poppins DVD was playing on repeat. At her back, Steve made a noise in his sleep and shifted slightly under her weight. That's when she remembered what happened last night.

Waverly woke up screaming, the third time this week, from a nightmare. This one had been about Loki. Staring at him behind the glass cage in the depths of the helicarrier. His eerie green eyes locked on her, looking into her soul, pulling out secrets and lies, dissecting the layers of her past. Layers she didn't fully understand. Layers that had been missing. Doubts, questions, fears. She'd never forget what he had said that day.

 _You call him your brother. Tell me, girl, has he ever mentioned your parents?...his parents are not your parents….he found you….no one knows who or_ what _you are…._

Waverly shuddered, the words replaying in her mind. She felt her heart hammering at her chest. Felt the anxiety rising in her throat, making her feel nauseous and trapped.

Then Steve shifted again in his sleep. His arm slid down from where it was draped around her shoulders to lay at her waist.

Waverly felt herself relaxing. She was safe. She was fine. The battle was over; had been over. It was done. Loki was gone. There were still things she had to come with terms with; a hard conversation with her brother loomed on the horizon. But for now, she was fine; she had to keep reminding herself that. And she was with Steve. She hadn't realized how much she had wanted that until the battle threatened to take that away from her. She felt a smile creep onto her face. Slowly, careful not to wake him, she twisted around and stretched up to lightly brush a kiss on his lips. Waverly didn't want to wake him, he needed the sleep just as much as she did, but she had to steal a kiss, feel his lips against hers. He had come to her, again, last night and held her in the dark, took her into the living room and put on a movie; their routine. She wasn't sure what she'd do without him.

To her dismay, even that slight gesture woke the super soldier, his senses heightened even in sleep. He blinked his blue eyes against the sun working its way in through the living room window. When he focused through the haze of sleep, he saw Waverly, gave a yawn and then a smile.

"You get some sleep?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, a little."

Steve's smile widened. "Good."

Waverly scooted over on the couch so Steve wasn't supporting her whole weight and could sit up. He did so with a stretch, his arms high above his head pulling up his shirt so Waverly could see a sliver of his abs. She felt her own smile widen.

"What… was it about… last night?"

And just like that, with Steve's question Waverly's smile vanished. The tight feeling returned to her chest and the morning warmth turned to a chill.

"I don't want to talk about it." Waverly's eyes dropped to her lap and she fiddled with a rip in the knee of her pink plaid pajama pants.

Steve sighed, the breath of air brushing against her cheek as he leaned towards her. Waverly felt his hand on the side of her face, his rough palm against her cheek. He turned her to face him. In his blue eyes, she saw a sternness. But also concern. She could guess what he was about to say as she had said something similar to him mere months before.

"You have to learn to deal with this. You can't keep running from your nightmares."

Secretly, Waverly thought, _You're one to talk,_ but she didn't want to start an argument. And she knew Steve was right, even if she didn't want to admit it. So, she just nodded.

"What was it about?" Steve asked again, his voice gentler this time. His hand had trailed from Waverly's cheek down to her lap where it held onto one of hers.

Waverly took a shuddering breath, calling up the memory of her dream. "It was about Loki. When I talked to him down in his cell on the helicarrier."

Steve nodded even though Waverly was no longer looking at him. Her eyes were back on her lap, but her gaze was unfocused, looking at something in her mind, something Steve couldn't see. Carefully, he said, "You never really told me about that."

Waverly bit her lip. "Yeah. Well, after Nat had her talk with him, right before," Waverly's breath caught in her throat. "Right before Clint attacked the ship and Bruce Hulked out… I went down to ask Loki what he did to Clint. How we could get him back." In Steve's hand, Waverly's fingers fidgeted nervously. She felt the super solider squeeze his hand more tightly around hers and she felt the reassurance in the gesture. "When I asked him, I said 'what did you do to my brother,' and he said, 'you call him brother; has he ever mentioned your parents?' I told myself he was just riling me up, trying to get in my head. Told myself not to play his games. But Clint really didn't talk about my, our, parents much. He hardly ever mentioned them or my childhood. And I don't remember much from when I was little. So I said that to Loki. And he… he said, 'that's because his parents are not your parents.'" Waverly took another shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She could remember everything from that day, that moment. Everything Loki said word for word. Like it had just happened yesterday. Even if she hadn't relived it in her dream last night. "Loki said Clint found me, wandering the streets. I was thirteen. He brought me to SHEILD. They didn't know who I was, where I came from. He said they altered my memory and then told me I was Clint's sister. I dreamt about that conversation last night. About what Loki told me. Waverly opened her eyes, feeling moisture at the corners. She hadn't even noticed that Steve had brought his other hand over to her and was now holding both her hands in his.

Steve was looking at Waverly with an expression she couldn't quite figure out. It was almost as if he was studying her. "He was trying to turn us all against each other." Steve said finally. "He was saying anything he could to make us fight against each other. He wanted you to turn on Clint."

Waverly shook her head. "You don't understand. Steve, I've always had this feeling of doubt. This feeling that things didn't make sense. I _don't_ have any memories from when I was really little. Clint _doesn't_ talk about our parents. And… I could see it, feel it in Loki's eyes. It wasn't a lie. He had been in Clint's _mind_. Natasha told me he knew about Sao Paulo. He knew about Dreykov's daughter. Secrets Natasha only trusted with Clint. Secrets even I didn't know about her. He _knew_ them, Steve." Waverly took in a breath and blinked back tears, refusing to let them fall down her cheeks. "And… afterward… when we were flying to New York, Clint and I, he said… 'there are things I told Loki; things I should have told you,' and when he said that, I knew what he meant." Waverly was now the one holding onto Steve's hands, gripping them so tightly her knuckles were white. She remembered when Clint said that. When he validated everything Loki told her, all her doubts about her childhood, doubts she had even before her encounter with Loki. She remembered feeling her stomach drop, her chest tighten. For one moment she felt all that, the fear and panic and hurt. But she'd had to put it out of her mind. They were in the middle of a battle. Aliens were about to fall out of the sky. She hadn't had time to think about it then. But she did now.

Steve sat in silence, his eyes on Waverly's face, taking in her words, replaying them, examining them in his mind. His fingers tingled as her grip cut off the circulation. Finally, he swallowed, cleared his throat. "Waverly, why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

Waverly sighed, released her grip on his fingers. He raised an arm, pulling her towards him. She dropped her head on his shoulder. "I don't know. Didn't have time at first. And then… I… didn't want to bother you with it. It's not your problem."

Steve wanted to argue that her problems _were_ his problems and that _she_ was helping him with so much the least he could do was lend an ear to her problems. But he could tell she was hurting. So instead, he said, "Have you talked to Clint about this?"

Against his shoulder, Waverly shook her head. "When we talk it's not long, or much. It's almost like he's avoiding me. And… I don't want to… can't… bring it up."

"If you haven't talked to Clint, then you don't know that it's true."

Waverly shook her head again. "I've had nightmares about my childhood long before Loki."

Steve wanted to argue that nightmares were simply just dreams. But he knew it wasn't that easy. And how many nightmares had _he_ had? About Bucky? Or Peggy? And they had been worse and more frequent ever since the battle. He didn't know what else to say. Or how he could help Waverly. Make her feel better. So he just sat there, arm wrapped around her, and let her lean into his shoulder. She curled her legs up underneath her and snuggled into Steve's chest like when they had been asleep. She raised a hand to his chest, curling it into a fist in Steve's shirt. And that's when he was struck with an idea.

"Waverly…" he said slowly, still forming the plan in his mind.

"Hmm?"

"I know you don't think the best way for me to handle my problems is to run down to the gym and wallop on a punching bag for a few hours, but maybe it'll help you."

Waverly shifted so she was sitting fully upright again and turned her head to look at Steve, an eyebrow cocked in confusion. "Um, what?"

Steve shrugged. "It'll definitely take your mind of things for a while. Maybe even help you sleep." As Steve talked, it all made more sense. He still needed to get back into shape (for a super soldier anyway); the Battle of New York taught him that much at least. And Waverly, well she proved she could be a real agent, a real fighter. If she wanted to continue to pursue that, she'd need training. And a good workout was always a good way to tire one's self out before bed. And he wasn't going to lie, imagining the punching bag was the root of all your problems and laying into it with everything you had was a good way to deal with pent up anger. "You said after the battle you should know how to defend yourself better. How to fight better. You work for SHIELD, your brother and your boyfriend are Avengers, you should know how to throw a decent punch. Let me teach you." The more he talked, the faster the words rushed out. Steve was excited about this. "We can go down to the gym. Right after it closes. Just me and you. Before bed. I'll train you, teach you a few things. And it'll get me back in shape. And trust me, after a good work out, you'll be too tired to even dream."

Waverly bit her lip while she thought. She was in decently good shape, for someone who didn't exercise and had a weakness for chocolate. But she was lacking in combat skills. She never passed the field courses at the SHEILD academy. On the other hand, she had held her own during the Battle of New York. Though most of that was sheer adrenalin, Waverly was the only true "civilian" actually fighting and she had walked away relatively unscathed; that couldn't have been just pure luck. She must have some skill deep down. And Steve was right. She _did_ say after the battle that she needed to be more strongly versed in combat. Plus, seeing the excitement in Steve's eyes, this idea clearly meant a lot to him. How could she say no?

Finally, she nodded. "Alright, I'll give it a try."

Steve pulled her into a hug. "Great! We'll start today. Seven o'clock. Right after dinner."

Waverly felt her jaw drop. Steve extricated himself from her and the blanket and strode across the living room to the attached kitchen, presumably to make breakfast. Waverly gaped after him.

"Wait, what? Today?!" All of Waverly's previous anxiety over what Loki had told her vanished as a wave of new anxiety at the thought of physical exertion washed over her.

Steve, back to her as he pulled pancake batter out of the cupboard, nodded.

Waverly scrambled up off the couch and followed Steve into the kitchen. "But… but…" she stammered, trying to find an excuse to put off training for another day. "Shouldn't we… shouldn't we build up to it? Think on it for a day?"

Steve had turned around, mixing bowl in one arm, and was pouring mix into it. "What's there to think about?" He raised an eyebrow. "No reason we should start today. How many pancakes you want? Four? Five? You'll need your energy."

Waverly, jaw hanging open once more, simply gawped in answer to Steve's question as the super soldier busied himself with preparing their breakfast.

* * *

 **AN: Not much to say on this one either. Just setting some stuff up. A lot of this is directly referencing my first Capt America fic so if you're confused you might have to go back and read parts of that.**

 **Thanks to greenburrito711 and Taylor Noelle Hood for your reviews!**

 **Thanks to my followers and to those who've favorited as well.**

 **Please keep reading and reviewing! I hope you like :) -CL**

 **PS: I _finally_ saw Infinity War and... I just... omg... no words!**


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Clint jolted awake at the sound of his phone buzzing along on the wooden floor of his apartment in Stark – no, _Avenger's_ Tower. He was sprawled on his stomach on his couch. His left arm was hanging over the side, fingers inches away from the phone that had just slipped from them and was now causing the obnoxious sound as it vibrated on the floor. Blearily, Clint raised his head and blinked, forcing his eyes to focus on the lit screen to see who was calling at such an un-Godly hour. He yawned to clear his head from his sleep-daze and rubbed the back of his other hand across his chin, wiping away the drool that had moistened the stubble there. His hair stood in sleep tousled spikes. When Clint's gaze finally focused on the glowing, vibrating rectangle on the floor, he realized three things:  
1\. It was Natasha who was calling.

2\. She had called 5 times previously, during which Clint must have slept through, which meant if he didn't answer her now she'd be royally pissed.  
And 3. It was actually the not so un-Godly hour of two in the afternoon. Which meant Clint must have made it through most of the night and wee hours of the morning in a caffeine fueled haze and quite literally passed out from exhaustion despite the unhealthy amount of caffeine in his system.

Preparing to get chewed out by Nat, Clint groaned and reached for his phone. He swiped his thumb across the screen and accepted the call. Placing the phone to his ear, he said, "Hey Natasha."

" _Good God, Clint. I thought something happened to you. Why didn't you answer your phone?"_

Clint opened his mouth to answer but before he got even a syllable out, Natasha continued.

" _And don't give me some bull shit about working or being on a mission. I know you're still on leave; same as me. And I don't want to hear any of the same sorry excuses you've been giving me since New York."_

Even though she couldn't see him, Clint blushed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. He had finally pulled himself into a sitting position and his muscles groaned in protest from being cramped up on the couch all night… or day as it were.

"Sorry Nat," he said lamely. "I was… sleeping."

Clint could almost hear the raised eyebrow in Natasha's expression as she answered. _"Sleeping? At two in the afternoon?"_

"I had a lot of coffee last night."

A sigh from the other end caused static to sound in Clint's ear. Before giving Natasha the chance to lecture him about the ill-effects of too much caffeine, Clint pulled out some of his old charm and cut her off.

"So, Tasha, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

There was another sigh in his ear but he could hear the smile behind it. _"To be honest, I'm bored. I haven't had a vacation since…."_ She trailed off.

Clint bit back a laugh. "Ever? I didn't think the famous Black Widow took time away from her job." Even though he meant it as a jab, it was true. Ever since he and Natasha had become partners, he didn't think she'd ever taken a vacation, or even a day off. At least not that he could remember. Natasha was always focused on her work, on the next mission or their next target. And even when she wasn't at SHEILD, she was never truly "off the clock." She was always researching their assignment or at the shooting range or in the gym.

" _Yeah well they don't exactly give you time off in the Red Room."_

"And you've been too busy playing teacher's pet with Fury since joining SHEILD." Clint only dared with this tease due to the protection of the phone call that separated him from Natasha.

" _Oh, haha, Barton. You're hilarious. Glad to see that amazing sense of humor finally returning."_ The comment was laced with sarcasm but underneath that, Clint could hear a hit of real relief and happiness. It was subtly and someone who didn't know Natasha Romanoff wouldn't have picked it up. He opened his mouth to say… something… he wasn't sure what, but Natasha went on to the real reason of her call. _"I'm getting antsy just sitting around my apartment. I'm driving into New York today. Was wondering if you wanted to hit the shooting range. I feel like my trigger finger's getting rusty just flipping through channels on TV all day."_

Clint felt himself smile. A real smile. He hadn't had one of those in a while. Typical Natasha. Wanting to shoot something. And he found it hard to believe that she was just channel surfing during her time off. She was probably playing 'Call of Duty' or something. He still regretted introducing her to first-person shooters; she had beaten all of the high scores on his Xbox. And he found it funny that she said 'trigger-finger;' singular. Everybody knew the Black Widow was remarkably ambidextrous when it came to shooting things. Clint suspected she could shoot with her toes if she had to.

But back to the matter at hand. If Natasha was driving up from her apartment in DC, that meant she had been on the road for nearly four hours. Though in her Corvette, it might have been more like three. Either way, after all that sitting, she'd be itching for some target practice, and she'd probably rope him in to a sparring session after. Clint had to admit that he was getting a little bored hanging around his own apartment and shooting things always made him feel better; especially when he imagined the target as having Loki's face. But if Natasha wanted to spar…. That was shaky ground. He would still have flashbacks… thoughts… he wasn't quite sure what they were but they weren't his own. They were Loki's. Thoughts of hurting her, killing her, and how he knew how to do it. Because he knew her better than anyone else. He knew her fighting style, her weak spots (because yes, even though she adamantly denied it, the Black Widow did have her weak spots, just like everyone else). And sometimes, the scariest thing, was that he felt like he wanted to do it. The way he did when he was under Loki's control.

Clint hesitated a moment longer before answering, lost in his thoughts and apprehensions.

" _Clint?"_

If he was going to get over this thing with Loki, he couldn't keep avoiding Natasha and their sparring sessions.

"Yeah, sure." He took a shaky breath, holding the phone away from his mouth so Nat wouldn't hear. He swallowed a lump in his throat and busied himself with picking at a hole in his t-shirt to avoid worrying about what might happen if he and Natasha started sparring and he lost control of his thoughts. "When will you be here?"

" _About another forty-five minutes, give or take city traffic. That'll give your lazy ass plenty of time to get ready. I'll meet you at the Tower."_

And with that, Natasha bid farewell and ended the call. Clint looked at her contact picture on the screen of his cell phone until it disappeared, indicating the call disconnected. He took another shaky breath and felt nerves wriggle around in his stomach. He sighed, ran his hand through his hair again, and then rose to go take a shower. If he wasn't ready when Natasha got here, she'd go nuclear on him; he'd already pissed her off with the five missed calls. It was in one's best interest for their overall well-being to stay on the good side of the Black Widow. And so, Clint trudged into the bathroom and turned on a cold shower to jolt him awake from his caffeine hang over.

* * *

 **AN: Sorry it's been awhile... I've been in a bit of a writer's block and I haven't had much time to write. This one is a little short and there's no Steve/Waverly but I wanted to make sure Clint's role in the story is set up since he's going to be a big part of Waverly's character arc here. And just a note... I know canonically in the MCU Clint is with Laura and has kids but for now I'm still on the Clintasha ship so if that change bothers you, I'm sorry. I think that's about it... Oh! I haven't done much writing of Natasha so I hope she's in character.**

 **Thanks for those of you who've reviewed/followed/favorited and to all my readers. I hope you enjoy; please keep up the reviews! :)**

 **-CL**


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